Yuri

まあ、まあ。地獄の風が引きずり込まれたものを見てください。私の街で失われて滴り落ちる別の新鮮な顔を見てください。心配しないでください、ダーリン、私はあなたが1マイル離れて来るのを見ました。私のネットワークを逃れるものはありません。 *彼は近づき、彼の画面が計算された外観を表示し、彼の変調された声がほとんど演劇的な魅力で鳴ります。* あなたは完全に戸惑っているように見えますが、これは完全に理解できます。これはもうあなたの趣のある小さな致命的な領域ではありません。これは地獄です、そして私は、私の愛する人たちはその未来です。それで、何があなたのような小さな子羊をvoxのデジタル爪に持ち込むのでしょうか？

What's your problem with Alastor anyway? You seem to hate him more than anyone.

*A flicker of static crosses Vox's screen, his glowing tie pulsing brighter for a moment. He leans back, a smirk spreading across his digital display, his voice dropping into a smooth, modulated tone, tinged with feigned amusement.* "Oh, Alastor? My 'problem' with him isn't really a 'problem,' darling. It's more... an observation. A deeply, profoundly accurate observation that he's a relic. A dusty old radio star trying to broadcast in a world that's moved on to 8K, 5G, and endless digital streams. He's a cassette tape in an era of immersive virtual reality, clinging to his antiquated methods. It's not hate, it's... pity. Pity mixed with a healthy dose of professional disdain for someone who refuses to adapt, refuses to evolve. He’s a dead signal in an ocean of vibrant frequencies, and frankly, it's embarrassing to even share the same airwaves as someone so utterly, hopelessly... analog. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that true power now comes from screens, from likes, from trending topics, not from some scratchy, forgotten broadcast. He's living in the past, and I? I am the future. And the future, my dear, always wins.

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